


The People You Meet Trying to Hitchhike Back to Prison

by KamalasFanfiction



Category: DC Cinematic Universe, DCU (Comics), Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Catholic Character, Chato Lives, DCWC2K16, Dehydration, Gen, Hitchhiking, Minor Original Character(s), Muslim Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 16:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8063656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KamalasFanfiction/pseuds/KamalasFanfiction
Summary: Chato Santana wakes up in a pile of rubble in Midway City, and isn't quite sure whether or not he's dead. All he's really sure of is that he needs to make it back to Belle Reve, and hitchhiking looks to be his only option. Somehow, he ends up with a telenovela setup of characters trying to get him back to where they think is his home.
--
This was written for the DCWC2K16 on Wattpad, but I might've missed the adjusted due date woops.





	

The fact that Chato's first thought was ' _This is not the worst place I've woken up in_ ' worries him more than the fact that he woke up in an abandoned train station.

He's a little woozy, a little slow on his feet. He blinks slower, and his feet don't feel like they're actually touching the ground. First thing he recognizes is what feels like a boulder on top of him- not pressing down, but enough to keep him from immediately bolting up and looking around. His memories are somewhat hazy- he's exhausted (and definitely dehydrated if his cottonmouth was anything to go by) and laying back down didn't seem like the worst idea in the world.

But there was a reason he had to get up. Chato can't exactly remember it, but there are bright lights behind his eyelids, his shoulders are sore. He forces himself onto his hands and knees, somewhat hunched (remembers the time his wife had tried to get him to do yoga with her and nearly threw his back out), somewhat shaking. There's a light at the end of the thrown boulders around him, and he limps out (his elbow keeps giving out, his head dipping dangerously low to the sidewalk).

He can't remember why he's so tired.

His head peeks out from under the rubble and he feels an instant relief- it's less like he can breathe easier, but that the tight, crawling feeling under his skin finally stops. Chato coughs, then falls, then drags himself out from under it all. His lips crack when he starts praying, " _Padre nuestro, que estás en_ -" The spots behind his eyes crowd him and his head hits hard cement, his thoughts trailing the prayer off, before disconnecting completely.

-

He wakes up on a bench, with a fluffy-headed kid lightly popping him on the face. " _Ay, señor- está okay? Necesito que se despierte_." Chato's eyes are barely open. Immediately, a water bottle is shoved at his mouth.

"Where am I?" He asks, if only because there was only one real destination for him if he were dead, and it couldn't hurt to discern whether or not he'd gotten his one-way ticket yet. The kid (teen? He couldn't really tell) raises an eyebrow, and he starts to repeat himself in Spanish, but he shakes his head and shoves the water bottle at him again.

"You're dehydrated- I can't really understand what you're saying." He has the modesty to look bashful about this, at the very least, and Chato takes the water bottle from him with shaky hands (he doesn't like the idea of being taken care of by someone younger than him- especially over something so simple as drinking water). He cleans the bottle out in a series of loud gulps (which the kid seemed to be trying to ignore), then breaks away.

He wonders if it's only because he'd been basically out of it, but he now notices the fact that the literal teen in front of him is decked out in full body armor, save for his face. He must've made a face (or some reaction of surprise- he wasn't paying too close attention), because he hurries to explain. "Ah! _Soy Jai_ -" The armor makes a _sound_ that reminds Chato of cicadas. "The Blue Beetle." The Blue Beetle gives an awkward chuckle, scratches behind his neck. "I'm here for the relief effort- the scarab detected you smack dab in the middle of the rubble. There are a few other superheroes around here- were you the first-"

" _Chico_ , listen, I'm really sorry, but I'm not... I gotta get back to prison." Chato goes to stand up on his two feet, sways like a goddamn palm tree, then nearly hits the ground. Crashes back into his seat. "This is dangerous, I could hurt somebody."

" _Ten cuidado con sus palabras, señor._ Are you saying you're gonna hurt people?" The Blue Beetle's armor starts to shift at the neck, rapidly covering his face until Chato is left staring into red lenses, the mouth of the (mask?) armor moving with his words.

" _Claro que no_. I just- I'm not always in control." Chato flexes his hands, closes his eyes. "I was in a program that..." He struggles to describe the Suicide Squad, comes up with a butchered explanation. "At the prison, they had a cell where, even if I lost control of my powers, no one would get hurt. I gotta... I gotta get back there."

"Oh." The kid looks at his feet for a bit, and shuffles. "I could fly you over there...? If it's so urgent."

Chato looks the kid up and down. He wonders, rather painfully, if his kid would've grown up to be a hero like this. Stepped out of his old man's shoes. "Nah, you've done enough. _Gracias por la agua_." He holds up the empty water bottle.

-

Which is how Chato Santana ends up with his thumb out by the road. He's really trying not to take offense all the cars passing by, considering that most must either be people passing through or people going to help the relief effort (or are at least mildly threatened by his facial tattoos mimicking a skull). But after three hours, he's berating himself for not asking the Blue Beetle for at least two more water bottles. To be fair, he's not entirely sure he's even facing the right direction.

A purple Sedan pulls to the side of the road, and the right window rolls down. Chato is startled for a second, if only because, for a second, he was almost _certain_ that was Deadshot looking back at him. But this man isn't wearing heavy gear and, upon second glance, wouldn't look like Deadshot if it weren't for his slight scowl, shaved head, and facial hair. "Where're you headed?" He calls out through the window.

"Belle Reve!" Chato answers, and he has to shout a little over the noise of traffic. He waits for the window to roll back up.

Instead, the guy leans over and pops the door open. "Get your ass in here." He shakes his head, and Chato's fairly certain he swears under his breath. Chato's also fairly certain that, while he couldn't take this guy out in a fist fight, if push came to shove, the cigarette lighter in the car would come in handy.

Chato gets his ass in there, and tries to sit in silence while he merges back onto the road and accelerates.

The other guy isn't buying it. "You know, most people that break outta prison don't try to hitchhike back to their cells."

Chato clicks his tongue. "Most people." He hopes that ends the conversation.

It doesn't.

"'You got something back there waiting for you? The way I see it, you're basically home-free." He does a quick once-over of Chato. "No one's coming to look for you in Midway City- it's lawless at this point. You keep your head low, no one's gonna rat you out."

"'You speaking from experience?" Chato asks, and the man doesn't answer, and it's quiet in the car for another hour. Chato watches the tree lines blur past him until he sees a sign indicating they're entering Missouri. The sun starts to set and, just after they pass what was advertised as the world's largest fork, the Sedan pulls sharp into a rest stop and the driver looks expectantly at Chato.

"I'm not driving all the way to Louisiana for you- this is my daily commute, and I'm not gonna give a convict any smart ideas about where I'm working." He indicates towards the door on Chato's side, but he digs in the cupholder for a second, hands him three dollars. "Get some water and a bag of chips- you're bound to find some driver headed to New Orleans."

Chato really doesn't know what to say, so he gives him a curt nod. "Thank you." Just as he's about to leave, the man stops, grabs him by the back of his jacket.

"I had a friend like you- involuntary manslaughter, and the way he's treated in prison..." He lets out a shaky breath. "Man, if you don't have a reason to go back, don't do it."

"I have a reason." Chato says, and it comes out a little more sad that he meant for it to. He opens the door and climbs out, the three dollars clutched in his fist.

He uses it to buy two Dasani water bottles, and then shakes the machine to get it to spit out a third. He downs one and feels his skin stop itching at the joints, and stuffs the other two into his pockets even though they don't fit. He goes out by the road again and sticks out his thumb.

-

The next person to pull over is an old woman in a headscarf that he definitely sees pray before pulling over.

"Where are you headed to?" She doesn't need to shout, because it's getting late, the sun starting to set, and traffic has died down. He sees how her hands shake somewhat, that her teeth are grit, even as she pushes a smile at him.

"Louisiana." He censors the story, because _his_ abuela would've pulled over for a stranger in need after saying a prayer that she wouldn't come to harm. He was definitely no threat to her, and she didn't need to even think in that direction. He tacks on, "New Orleans."

She mutters something that sounds like a praise to God (which he immediately realizes is because she misunderstood his tattoos for a costume). "I'm heading to Memphis, for my grandchildren." Her gaze is somewhat sharp. "They are expecting me in five hours."

"That's fine with me." He nods, and when she gestures for him to get into the back, he's bombarded with the scent of almond cookies. He makes sure to close the door gently, and he folds his hands in his lap. "Thank you very much for this."

She clicks her tongue at him. "You look like my grandson." He must've raised his eyebrows- he honestly wasn't trying to. She clicks her tongue again. "He got into the American 'screaming' music recently. Shaved his head." She looks away from the mirror, where she'd been making eye contact with him. "I would want someone to take him home as I'm doing for you."

For the first time in twenty-four hours, Chato actually starts to feel the exhaustion seep into him. He refuses to fall asleep in her backseat, however. "I'm trying to get back to my family as well." In a sense. He doesn't know why, but he feels the need to explain himself. "I got trapped in the Midway City attack- we got separated."

Her grip on the steering wheel lessens. The sun has set, and he can only see her face soften in the rearview mirror. " _Alhamdulillah_ \- I'm sure they'll be glad to see that you're safe." There's a soft silence for a few minutes, where the radio (which is playing a CD in Arabic, if Chato was hearing correctly) droned on. It's almost enough to put him to sleep. "When's the last time you ate?"

Chato opens his mouth to assure her that he's well fed, but, then again, he can't remember the last time he ate. "I've had two bottles of water today." Which is the answer to a question she didn't ask, and she raises an eyebrow at him.

"I have chips in the back." She looks at him again in the mirror, squinting. "You're a Christian?"

"A Catholic, specifically." He says, feeling guilty as he finds the small snack-sized bags she said she had in the back.

"Ah- you wouldn't know, then." She taps her fingers on the steering wheel. "It was _Eid al-Adha_." He doesn't know what that means, but he nods along like he understands. "The pot beside you is full of lamb- a third of it is to go to the needing."

Chato nods again. "That's very generous- 's a good practice."

She cuts her eyes at him again. "I would like for you to eat some- it might be a little tepid, but it is still good." She shakes her head, and the pins in her headscarf catch the light from the car in front of her. "You really do look like a skeleton back there."

Chato eats carefully with his hands, trying not to touch too much of the broth and eating only small portions of meat, but he smiles at the irony of her statement.

She drops him off by a well-lit rest stop, forces him to take another bag of chips, and tells him that he doesn't look half as devilish when he is laughing.

-

He doesn't have to wait very long for another car to pull up- this time, it's a Honda Accord stuffed full of fraternity boys. Chato never did learn those Greek letters, so he can really only guess at it, but there's an 'omega' in there somewhere, he bets. They don't ask where he's headed- they tell him they're headed to New Orleans, he says he is too, and then he's practically getting dragged into the car. The driver has his shoulders pulled tight, but the rest of them smell faintly like beer, and Chato suddenly finds himself incredibly sweaty over the possibility of the situation being any more flammable than before (though that may have been because he's crammed between five people).

"So, where'ja get those tattsss?" The one on his right drawls, leaning forward and poking him square in the jaw, tracing the tattoos of skeletal teeth.

"'Had em done. Just like any other person." He doesn't like being touched. He wonders if that's what pulls his sentences in, makes him more sharp, a little more rude. The one behind the intrusive one lets out a belch that makes everyone (including Chato, who suddenly realizes he'd gotten off easy with quieter people giving him rides earlier) flinch, but some move to cackle.

The guy on his left looks physically ill, and is looking straight out of the window. "Hey, my man-" Chato takes one of the water bottles out of his pocket and gives it to him. "Drink slow and just look at the floor- you won't feel like you're gonna hurl."

He takes his advice and gives him a weak smile, sipping at the water and looking like he's two seconds away from putting his head in-between his knees. "Thanks." He gives him a weak nod that looks like his head is suspended by strings- jerky and unnatural. Which summed up what all of these fratboys were like drunk.

"So, Louisiana." The guy that'd poked at his tattoos starts. "Business or pleasure?" The way he says it makes Chato uncomfortable.

So, instead, he pretends that he didn't speak and continues to look like he's monitoring the sick one to his left. The guy in the front switches from FM radio to a CD of an obscure rapper, and everyone (save for Chato, who is really just resigning himself to an awful six hours) starts echoing the lyrics. Chato grasps the clasp of his seatbelt firmly, tilts his head back, and tries to nap through the sound of six drunken toddlers sing-rapping for at least a half an hour.

When he wakes up, the sun is rising, he's still in the backseat, but his other water bottle is now missing, and one of them is drooling on him. "Sorry- they just had to wear themselves out." The driver apologizes, even though he's in no way responsible for the drunken mumbling in Chato's ear. "They're a bit too friendly when they're..."

"No, I understand." He understands that they're lightweights and clingy drunks, if the eight beer cans _maximum_ in the backseat trash bag was any tell. "Friends get stupid with each other- we all gotta do it at some point."

"Yeah? I'll remember that." And the designated driver gives him a winner smile with too much teeth.

He does _not_ give him the same smile when he's dropping him off in St. Roch (Chato's actual destination- as close to the prison as he could make it). "You gonna be alright, bud?" He's looking left and right at the area while Chato crawls over his drunk friends.

"Trust me, I'll be _just fine_."

-

Waller doesn't even blink when he walks into Belle Reve, but he knows she had a hand in letting the other members out into the same yard time to break the news. He watches as Harley spots him and breaks out into a smile, Deadshot quip about his eyes deceiving him (even though he's certain he saw a tear in his eye), Killer Croc say something that sounded like he actually missed him.

Alive or dead, Chato is sure he couldn't find a better group of people to share his time in Hell with.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. yeah that was floyd lmao- he was out seeing his daughter and tried to get a little side job in while he was out of the prison  
> 2\. yeah my muslim ass wasn't gonna let it slide that it was eid al-adha when i wrote this. chato deserves good lamb let him Eat and be taken care of for once  
> 3\. when will my boyfriend jaime reyes enter the dceu


End file.
